⋆˖☽ Chapter 2 ☾˖⋆
3260 Words
The moonlight hit his hair; it seemed to soak into the strands, a pale, necrotic gold that mirrored Celia’s. My pulse became a frantic drum against my ribs. Ruslan stopped a hundred feet away, his silhouette a jagged tear in the night. Clad in midnight-black plate that swallowed the light, he moved with a predatory grace that made the hair on my arms stand up. A heavy broadsword hung at his hip.
My hand trembled as I tightened my grip on the riser of my bow. His eyes, two chips of glacial ice, pinned me to the spot.
"Ruslan," I spat, the name tasting like copper and ash.
"Alanah." His voice was a low vibration, carried across the clearing on a wind that smelled of coming frost. "I am disappointed. Did you truly believe you could outrun the shadow I cast? Where in this dying world could you possibly hide?"
I didn’t waste breath on a retort. In one fluid, practiced blur, I nocked an arrow. The string hummed—a sharp, lethal note—as I released, aiming for the frozen blue of his right eye.
Ruslan didn’t flinch. His lips merely curled into a jagged smirk. For a heartbeat, a spark of genuine, terrifying delight danced in his gaze. His hand blurred to his hilt. With a silver arc of steel, he cleaved the arrow mid-air. The shaft detonated into a spray of splinters that hissed into the dirt like rain.
"I do not belong to you!" I shouted, the rage finally overriding the tremor in my voice. "I am not yours to be kept, Ruslan!"
He clutched his chest, a mocking, theatrical gesture of heartbreak, and took a step forward. The ground seemed to groan beneath his boots. "That is hurtful. I have been very patient." He c****d his head, his expression curdling into something dark and suffocating. "But even a saint’s patience has its horizon. And I am no saint."
"Patience?" I let out a jagged, hysterical laugh. "You have done nothing but hunt me." I planted my feet, feeling the grit of the cliffside beneath my soles. "Do not come another step closer."
In my periphery, Ondina was a coiled spring. Her daggers were bared, twin slivers of silver reflecting the Cursed Moon.
Suddenly, Ruslan’s focus snapped toward the treeline. "Celia," he called, his voice booming. "Come out now."
A sharp quiver ran through me. My lungs felt suddenly too small for my chest.
"You have waited long enough to join us," he echoed. But then, his posture broke. His hand fell limp, and he froze, a violent shudder wracking his frame. He shook his head, his gaze dropping to the dirt as if he were fighting an invisible ghost. "No... this is wrong. This isn't..."
The clarity vanished like a guttering candle. His head snapped back up, his eyes bloodshot and wild. He let out a piercing, shrill whistle that split the night. He shoved his hand forward—a silent, sovereign command to slaughter.
Fifteen shadows detached themselves from the ridgeline, spilling down the slope like ink.
I didn't hesitate. I released again, the bowstring snapping painfully against my wrist. The arrow hissed through the dark and buried itself in the lead shadow’s throat. The body hit the earth with a heavy thud.
"Do not touch Alanah!" Ruslan roared, a sound so primal it seemed to shake the very air. "She is mine!"
Beside me, Ondina became a blur of steel and motion. She charged the advancing wall of men, her daggers carving arcs of silver light as she vanished into the fray.
Ruslan was already lunging. I aimed at his lead foot, hoping to cripple his momentum, but he sidestepped the shaft with ease. The distance vanished. I swung my bow over my shoulder—I was out of time. I ripped my dagger from its sheath just as his broadsword descended like a falling star.
The collision sent a violent spray of sparks into the air. The vibration traveled up my arms, rattling my teeth.
"You killed her," he seethed, his face inches from mine. The glacial ice of his eyes had turned into a twin-fire of madness.
I slid my dagger down the length of his steel, the screech of metal on metal set my nerves on edge. I used the friction to pivot, shoving off to create space. "I did what I had to do to survive you!"
As he overextended, I lunged, aiming for the gap in his armor at the gut. He twisted back, the tip of my blade scoring a shallow line across his breastplate. A deep, animalistic growl vibrated in his chest.
"It seems I have been too lenient," he hissed. He swung a brutal, horizontal s***h. I dropped, the air of the blade whistling inches above my scalp as I rolled and sprang back to my feet.
"You killed my sister!" he roared, his shadow stretching long and monstrous under the pale light. "And tonight, underneath the Cursed Moon, I will teach you the price of such a debt!"
He swung again—a crushing blow. I caught it on my dagger, my knees buckling under the sheer force of his strength.
"You will teach me nothing," I spat, teeth gritted until they ached. "I will never follow you into the dark!"
Behind him, I saw Ondina. She was a whirlwind, but she was being swallowed. Three shadows swarmed her at once. I tried to scream her name, but Ruslan’s steel was whistling toward my throat again. I leapt backward, the blade slicing through the fabric of my shirt, grazing the skin of my ribs.
"You are right," Ruslan said, his voice dropping into an eerie, terrifying calm. "You will never follow me... willingly."
He pressed the assault relentlessly. Every blow rattled my bones; my muscles were beginning to fail.
"It’s simple, really," he continued, a dark smirk playing on his lips. "You have no world left but the one I give you. I own your breath. I own your silence."
No, you do not, I screamed internally, the words choked by the copper tang of adrenaline.
"And if I have to break your spirit to make you heel..." He shifted his stance, leaving a microscopic opening.
"I—" His words cut off as I lunged. My dagger bit deep into his side. He didn't even flinch. Instead, his hand clamped onto my forearm like a cold iron vice.
I didn't panic. I twisted my arm violently against his thumb—the weak point—and ripped myself free, leaving a trail of my own skin behind.
"Enough!" he bellowed.
Whatever tether held his sanity snapped. His sword came down in a frantic, heavy rhythm—a storm of steel. Each block felt like catching a falling boulder. My vision began to swim.
"Alanah!" Ondina’s voice pierced the chaos.
Ruslan swung a shimmering arc of death. I sidestepped, the steel missing me by a breath, but the blade slammed into the bedrock with a deafening crack.
The ground beneath me shuddered. Spiderwebs of fractured stone shot out from where his sword had struck. Before I could react, the cliff edge gave way under my boots.
I slipped.
Everything slowed. I saw Ondina sprinting toward me, her face a mask of raw desperation. She lunged, burying a dagger deep into Ruslan’s shoulder to get to me. Sharp rock scraped against my chest as I tumbled over the edge. My fingers clawed at the stone, nails tearing, blood slicking the granite.
I caught the ledge. I hung there, suspended over a hundred feet of emptiness.
Ondina was there in a heartbeat, dropping to her knees, her hand outstretched. "Grab on!" she screamed, her voice breaking.
I held the rock with one hand and reached up. Our fingertips brushed—a whisper of warmth in the cold. I let go of the stone to give her my weight, our hands finally locking. But just as her grip tightened, a shadow loomed.
Ruslan. His face was a snarl of fractured madness. His hands clamped down on Ondina’s shoulders.
"No!" she screamed, a sound of such raw agony it felt like it tore the sky in two.
He yanked her backward with a roar of brutal strength. Her hand ripped away from mine.
The world fell away. The wind shrieked past my ears as I plummeted into the void. The last thing I heard was a soul-shattering cry from the clifftop before the freezing water slammed into me like a wall.
The cold was absolute. The abyss swallowed me whole, followed only by silence.
⭒☽ ◑ ☾⭒
A freezing wave crashed over my face, forcing its way into my nose and throat. The shock of it violently dragged me back from the void.
I gagged, no longer dreaming, but choking on the river itself. Stones and silt scraped against my cheek as my body convulsed, trying to expel the water.
Breathe.
I clawed into the thick riverbank, stirring up the copper scent of churned earth. My limbs were leaden, dragged down by the sodden weight of my clothes, but I hauled myself onto the cruel mercy of the stones. The grey gloom of the day spun above me, a kaleidoscope of slate and charcoal.
Panic spiked in my chest. I stared at my hands, shaking and pale, the skin on my fingertips shriveled and pruned white from the water. I hadn't just lost a few minutes. I had lost hours. The entire night was gone.
I rolled onto my side and a scream died in my throat, strangled by the agony flaring in my chest. Broken. Definitely broken. Every exhale was a jagged shard of glass grinding inside me.
I jammed my palms into the freezing mud to push upright, reaching blindly over my shoulder for my bow—but my fingers closed around mist.
My stomach dropped, a hollow vertigo worse than the fall. I slapped my thigh, frantically searching for the familiar curve of wood. Nothing.
No.
My mother’s dagger. The last piece of her...gone. I reached for my thigh, but it wasn't there.
Ondina’s scream still echoed in my ears, haunting and raw, looping endlessly. Was she even alive?
A gust of wind sighed through the ancient trees. I can't linger. The Vow would be hunting. Gritting my teeth against the throb in my side, I forced my body upright. The canopy above was a tangled cage, the climb too steep for shattered bones. The ground was my only option.
I swept my gaze across the forest until a splash of color cut through the grey—a yellow ribbon, frayed and weeping with moisture, tied to a branch.
Relief washed over me. Stonehollow. Just keep heading East.
The roar of the river faded with every agonizing step, swallowed by the deepening woods. A heavy silence took its place, broken only by the melody of a Sparrowing soaring overhead. Its snow-white wings caught the grey light—a blinding, taunting reminder of peace.
Peace. The concept felt like a lie told to children.
A sigh tore from my throat, transforming into a groan as my chest protested the movement.
The only peace left was in the visions. In those dreams, the grass was vibrant, the flowers untouched by rot, the miasma nonexistent. There was a sky of endless sapphire, and a sun that soaked warmth deep into the marrow of the bone.
A sharp gust ripped through the fantasy.
Wind caught my damp tunic, sending a violent shiver rattling through my aching torso. The cold was a cruel anchor, dragging me back to where I really was.
Enkarthos?
I cast my thoughts out into the void of my mind, desperate for a tether.
Please, speak to me.
Silence. I haven't heard your voice since the last vision. Bitterness coated my tongue, sharp as bile.
Fine. Be silent then.
The heavy scent of damp pine and decaying leaves clung to the branches. A Puff Whisp darted from one bush to another, a blur of white fur vanishing into the undergrowth.
My skin prickled. Whisps don't run without a reason.
I tried to turn, to scan the tree line, but a hidden root snagged my boot.
I pitched forward. Instinct screamed at me to tuck and roll, to protect my chest, but my body was too slow, too broken. I threw my hands out, palms slamming against the rough bark of a pine to arrest the fall. The wood shredded my skin, leaving fresh, stinging scrapes as I slid down to the gnarled roots.
Acid burned the back of my throat. I swallowed down the wave of bile, squeezing my eyes shut against the spinning world.
Get up. If the Whisp is running, something is coming.
"Over here!"
The shout sliced through the forest silence like a blade.
I fought through the agony, pressing myself flat against the bark, trying to become one with the tree. The fine hairs on my arms stood on end, and my pulse hammered a frantic rhythm against my throat.
Footsteps. Three sets, closing in. One of them walked with a heavy, rhythmic limp.
"Set the rendezvous here," a voice said, maybe fifty feet away.
"All this for one girl?" A deeper voice scoffed, followed by the wet sound of spitting. "Waste of our time."
"Shut it." An older man’s voice cut through the air. "We do not question the Commander. If he wants the girl, we find her."
The deep-voiced man let out a hearty, mocking laugh. I leaned out just enough to peer around the trunk, breath held in my burning lungs.
A pressure swelled against the back of my skull, a presence rising from the depths like a tide. I held my breath, waiting for the word to break the surface—but it dissolved.
"The Commander lost his favorite toy, and here we are risking our—"
The rest of his sentence blurred into white noise. My gaze had snagged on something to their left. It was barely visible, a nightmare camouflaged against the gloom: massive scales, blending perfectly with the ancient tree it strangled.
Its body was a sinuous river of muscle, rivaling the width of the ancient trunk itself. It began to uncoil, descending toward the forest floor with terrifying, fluid silence. Its eyes remained shut. It wasn't just existing; it was hunting.
Watching. Listening. Waiting.
I wouldn't stand a chance against it, certainly not in this condition. I was little more than broken bone and wet cloth.
A muscle rippled beneath its scales, a silent wave of power, yet the men remained oblivious. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, silently pushing away from the tree. Just then, the Glimcoil’s eyelids slit open, revealing a sickly, bio-luminescent yellow-green glow.
It was too late for them. The creature began to quietly coil, winding itself. My muscles locked, feet bracing against the dirt. I had to find a way around.
One of the men raised his sword, slicing it to the side in a casual gesture. A glint of light reflected off the steel, piercing the haze and flashing directly into the monster's eyes.
The Glimcoil snapped.
It launched itself through the air, a blur of scales and teeth. The man only managed a half-turn before the creature's long, needle-sharp fangs clamped down, swallowing his torso in one gruesome, wet motion.
The heavy, copper scent of blood instantly saturated the damp air. Chitterwings exploded from the canopy in a frenzy of panicked wings. The remaining two men scrambled for their weapons, their bravado shattering.
Move.
I broke into a heavy, desperate lurch. Every footfall sent a shockwave of agony shooting through me, blinding me with white flashes of pain. I wasn't its prey—not yet.
A fresh scream tore through the woods behind me, wet and abruptly silenced. I grit my teeth, tears mingling with the river water on my face. Farther. I just needed more distance.
I forced my legs to churn until my vision began to tunnel, black edges creeping in. Each breath was a ragged gasp, a battle for oxygen. I clutched my side, holding myself together as if my hands alone could keep me from falling apart. I can't do more.
My head snapped back toward the m******e in the woods. Is this distance enough?
I didn't stop to find out. The sprint quickly decayed into a jagged, rhythmic limp. Time smeared into a haze of grey trunks and biting wind. The screams behind me eventually faded, replaced only by the wet, ragged rasp of my own breathing and the crunch of dead leaves.
My pace slowed to a stumble, dirt dragging heavily under my boots, until the suffocating trees finally gave way. The wind picked up, carrying the sharp, mineral scent of wet stone. Before me lay the valley of Stonehollow. It was cradled between two colossal mountains, the town carved directly into the living rock, with intricate staircases and bridges spider-webbing across the cliffs like veins of civilization.
I stepped onto the main road behind a wagon, its wobbling wheels kicking up dust that coated my throat. The large stone gate stood open. Only one guard was on duty, watching the flow of travelers with bored detachment.
This is my first time without my cloak. I kept my chin tucked low, hiding my face. Just get past the guard.
I felt his gaze piercing me, analyzing my broken, limping gait, my sodden clothes.
"Excuse me!" he shouted.
I froze. My head lifted slowly, heart hammering against my bruised chest.
"Sorry," a woman’s voice trembled.
I exhaled, nearly collapsing with relief. It wasn't me. Nearby, a woman was kneeling on the ground, gathering apples she had dropped. The guard bent to help her, his voice stern but not malicious. "Be more careful next time."
I forced my feet to move, but I wasn't fast enough to escape notice completely. A gasp rippled through the nearby crowd, followed by people stepping back, creating a wide berth as if I carried a plague.
"Momma, why is that cursed woman here?"
"Hush, child," the mother hissed, pulling her son tight against her skirts, shielding him from my presence.
Ignore them.
I climbed the familiar wooden staircase, focusing entirely on the destination. The rich, metallic scent of hot coals and singed leather grew thicker until I stood before the shop. I took one last steadying breath, eyeing the wrought iron sign swaying creakily in the wind.
I pressed my hand to the wood and pushed. Two figures stood inside Elsheva's shop. Metal clattered loudly to the floor.
"Alanah?"
It wasn't Elsheva. It was a man’s voice—deep, rough, and one I knew far too well.
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